


Love's Pure Light

by LayALioness



Series: Pour Me the Remembering Wine [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5421209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LayALioness/pseuds/LayALioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When people ask Clarke why she's getting married on Christmas Eve, her go-to answer is "So we'll never forget our anniversary." </p><p>The truth is a little more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's Pure Light

**Author's Note:**

> I would have had this up a lot sooner, but my mom distracted me with Love Actually, oops.
> 
> Title from Silent Night.

"You're _sure_ you want to get married on Christmas Eve," Raven says, again, for what must be the tenth time. She's just looking out for her, Clarke knows, just wants to make sure she won't regret this, but.

She's said yes _ten times_ already. There's only so much reassurance she can give before getting aggravated.

"Positive," she says, firm, waving her shot glass in the air for another round, before leaning over to help Octavia put the finishing touches on her bouquet.

They're each carrying little grape flowers, from Bellamy's vineyard, along with paper flowers made out of folded book pages. Wells had told her about them, and shown her a few etsy links, so they could copy the idea. He'd also tried to convince her to carry a few aquamarine mold spores with them.

"They match your eyes," he'd said hopefully, and while they were very pretty, she would have had to carry them in a sealed plastic case so no one died of emphazima at her wedding.

"I'm just saying," Raven says, and then immediately frowns at the glass of whiskey in her hands, like she's forgotten what came next. "There are lots of other days in December," she adds, belated. "That aren't already someone else's birthday."

"Yeah, but we'll never forget our anniverssary," Clarke points out. It's her usual go-to argument when most people ask about her wedding date, but nobody seems to find it as funny as she and Bellamy do.

"Plus, all the invitations are already sent out," Wells adds, sitting down with them, with the next round of shots, and an applemartini with extra olives, for himself. Clarke had offered to let him go to Bellamy's bachelor party instead, since all the other maids of honor are female, and she didn't want him feeling awkward. She should have known better, really; Wells pretty much planned the whole night on his own, with periodic help from Octavia and Raven. He's very excited about it all--he's even wearing a sash.

"Exactly," Clarke agrees, and then burps. Her mouth tastes like tequila. She pokes at one of Octavia's paper orchids, made from a page of _Pride and Prejudice_ , but the younger girl swats her away. It's probably for the best; Clarke's started to see double. She's probably not the best at hand-eye coordination, right now.

The tiara's starting to go crooked on top of her head, so Clarke reaches up to straighten it, which just gets the prongs stuck in her hair and makes everything worse, so she whines a little until Raven stretches over to fix it, from where she's still sitting down.

Except Raven's even drunker than Clarke is, apparently, and nearly falls out of her chair, before Wells finally just sighs and does it himself.

"Alcoholics," he says, fond, and Raven throws a cocktail napkin at his face. She's drawn something on it in pen, and it might have started out as the original design for the USS Enterprise, but now it looks kind of like one of those metal spiderwebs at school playgrounds.

Clarke hums a little around one of the olives she's stolen out of his drink, and then jumps upright. "Where's my phone?" she demands, and Octavia glares at her, pointing with her paper rose. She's actually pretty good at the folding--she might have a future in origami or something.

"Oh no you don't," O warns, eyes narrowed. "You told me this would happen. Sober Clarke did not want Drunk Clarke to have her phone. You'll regret it in the morning."

"I will not," Clarke says, petulant, and Raven rolls her eyes.

"Ten bucks says she's just gonna try and sext Bellamy."

Octavia makes a face, while Clarke cries out, indignant.

"Maybe I just wanted to call my mother," she snaps. "On this, the day before the day before my wedding!"

"How many days was that?"

"Two," Clarke says, smug. "I am an excellent."

Raven snorts a little. "An excellent _what_?"

Clarke burps again. "Hm?" She frowns, trying to remember, and then snaps her fingers, or at least tries. "My phone!" She whirls on Octavia, distrustful. "Where is it?"

"No way," O sing songs, finishing the last of Raven's bouquet, because if it were up to Raven, hers would be made out of metal. Honestly, Clarke's pretty sure she might still sneak a few welded tiger lilies in there, or something. Made out of car parts, or the cogs of a grandfather clock.

"You're not my favorite anymore," Clarke declares, and then drapes herself over Wells. "Wells is my favorite."

"I better be," he agrees, cheerful. He's color coordinating the ribbons, and he's actually pretty good. Clarke knows for a fact that he has a scrap book filled with lace and ribbon cuttings from different craft shops, and a few articles from the bridal magazines that he stole from his dentist. Wells _loves_ weddings. "I'm even wearing a sash."

Clarke just sort of stays there for a moment, head tucked on his shoulder, because she forgets she can move. He starts feeding her his olives, because he is a true friend, and so mostly she just eats those and glares at Raven and Octavia.

Then she feels something move against her dress--it has pockets, which is like ninety percent of the reason that she bought it in the first place. Plus, it has scotties on it, and scotties are always fun.

Clarke glances down and sees Wells drop his hand, from where he'd been slipping her phone into her pocket. He winks at her when she stands and, completely obvious, announces "I have to go to the bathroom."

Raven rolls her eyes. "Don't fall in."

Clarke makes a face, but then stumbles, so the effect is kind of lost. She wobbles towards the back of the pub, where the bathrooms are, and then slips out the back door that the employees use to take the trash out. There are dumpsters right outside, but it's December, so the air is crisp and a little chilly, and everything smells like gingerbread. But maybe that's just in her head.

She really does mean to just call her mother, because she and Bellamy agreed that they wouldn't speak to or see each other until they met at the altar. But even Drunk Clarke can acknowledge that calling her mom at three am in the morning while incredibly wasted might not be the best life choice to make.

But--Bellamy's contact is _right_ there, her number one speed dial. And, well. She sort of misses him, which feels a little bit dumb. With the whirlwind of wedding planning that the last few weeks have been, and all their friends, and Clarke's family, flying into town and settling in at the vineyard, she hasn't actually spent much time alone with her fiancé, which is disappointing. Spending time with Bellamy is one of her favorite things.

He picks up on the first ring, though, so he's probably missing her too.

"No," Miller says, immediately, and Clarke frowns.

"Are our friends ganging up on us and confiscating our phones?" she demands.

"Yes."

Clarke cries out, outraged. "This isn't high school! We're not teenagers, Miller. I demand to speak to my husband."

"He's not your husband yet," Miller argues, sounding amused, but she can hear Bellamy's voice in the background, shouting _IS THAT MY WIFE?_ so.

Clarke grins, ducking her head a little, even though there's no one there to see her. "Miller," she says, soft, the way she knows he can't resist. Miller has a thing for soft-spoken people--see: Monty. "Put him on the phone. Please."

There's a huge sigh, and then "Hang on a sec," before suddenly Bellamy's on the line, breathing heavy, like he ran for it.

"Princess?" There's a huge grin in his voice, and he's very _clearly_ drunk, but that's okay. Clarke's drunk and grinning hugely, too. They're getting _married_.

"Hey, nerd," she says, and he snorts.

"My loving wife, everybody!" he calls away from the phone, and there are a few cheers and the sound of clinking glasses. His bachelor party is being held at the vineyard, in the bar on site, where people can order and sample his wines. Except tonight it's closed for business, and she's pretty sure they're all drinking Guiness.

Then he's back on the phone, quieter, just for her. "I miss you. How are the book flowers?"

"Fine," she makes a face when he laughs. Bellamy had thought they should finish all the crafts sober, but where was the fun in that? Clarke liked a challenge. "Your sister's really good at it. I think maybe she should go into the business."

"The business of book flowers," Bellamy hums. "Booming." There's a pause, and then, " _Blooming_ ," he corrects, laughing at his own joke.

"How much have you had to drink?" Clarke wonders, amused.

"What are you, the alcohol police? Which of us is the professional wine maker, here?"

"I thought we both were," she teases. "That's what you said like, six months ago. When you asked me to move in with you."

"Did I?" he feigns, and Clarke scoffs.

" _It's_ your _vineyard too, princess_ ," she says, making her voice as low as it can go. Bellamy barks out a laugh, and then pauses.

"I meant it," he says, quiet. "I still mean it."

"I know," Clarke grins. "I said yes, didn't I? I meant it too." She kicks at the curb a little, scuffing her boot. Winter in North Carolina is very unimpressive, which she's okay with. She's never been a fan of cold weather. "I still mean it. That's why I'm marrying you."

"So you'll legally own half my business?"

"Exactly," Clarke laughs. "That way when I kill you off, I'll get it all."

"You'll have to kill Octavia too," he warns, chuckling.

"That'll be harder," she muses. "Maybe I'll wait until she's sleeping. Catch her by surprise."

"Like she doesn't sleep with a knife under her pillow," Bellamy scoffs, and she can't really argue with that. Octavia probably carries a knife with her in the _shower_. "I bet my vows are better than yours."

"I bet you'll cry first," Clarke shoots. "And I bet Octavia's nicer to me in her toast."

"It doesn't count if you bribe her with _Housewives_ box sets," he grumbles, which is fair, since she does, regularly.

"For what it's worth, I'm only marrying you because you're hot," he adds. "And also because I want our kids to have blue eyes."

Clarke's smile melts a little, and she really wishes she could see him, right now. Or just make out a lot--seeing is optional. "Maybe I want them to have your eyes."

"Then I guess we'll just have to have one of each," he muses. "And it probably won't happen immediately, so we'll just have to keep having more until it happens."

"Logically," Clarke agrees. "Ready to lose your last name?"

"Upgrade it," he corrects. "And it's okay because O's making Lincoln take hers, if they ever get hitched."

"Nice contingency plan. I'll see you at the altar."

"See you," he grins, and she hangs up.

Raven looks at her knowingly when she gets back to the table--O is angrily demanding karaoke, while the bartender tries to explain they don't _have_ a karaoke machine, and Wells is falling asleep with his head on Raven's lap. She's kicked her chair out, so he could fit--he's still not over the jetlag. Raven's powering through it by refusing to sleep at all. She might actually _die_ by the end of the wedding, but that's apparently a risk she's willing to take.

"So was that _not_ you trying to have phone sex with your future husband?"

"We weren't having phone sex," Clarke sniffs. "We were plotting his and Octavia's murders. Also, he thinks his vows are better than mine, so now I have to prove him wrong."

Raven goes suddenly serious, now that she has a competition to win. "Okay, we're definitely winning that." She moves closer to the table, reaching for a handful of fresh napkins to sketch out their gameplan, dislodging Wells, who promptly falls to the floor.

Octavia marches back while Raven and Clarke are still detailing her vows--it's mostly Bon Jovi lyrics at this point, but there are a few good lines from _The Return of the King_ , so obviously she's going to win.

"This party's a bust," O declares, glaring harshly over at the bartender, who has by now called both his manager and the part time bouncer, that they usually don't even need. "Let's smash this joint."

Clarke frowns up at her. "Have you been watching _Road House_ again? Please don't kick over any tables."

Octavia scowls. "No promises. Let's go." She single-handedly peels Wells up off the table, like a sticker. Clarke probably shouldn't have let him order so many gin-based drinks.

Abby's wedding gift was the honeymoon suite at a five-star hotel in Charlotte, for Clarke and her bridesmaids. The rooms are very, very nice, but it's hard for them to truly appreciate them, when they stumble through the door and promptly pass out on all surfaces. Clarke makes it half onto the bed, at least, while Wells has curled up on the settee, and she's pretty sure Octavia's claimed the jacuzzi tub. Raven lays down beside her with a sigh too big for her body, and rolls over to face her, noses just inches apart.

"Are you nervous?"

"No," Clarke hums, but Raven looks skeptical. "I'm serious! It's been two years--I'm just ready to be married to him."

"Would you have stayed with him, if he never asked?"

Clarke makes a face. Bellamy's proposal had been a bit of a disaster, because she accidentally found the ring three weeks early, and kept waiting for him to drop to one knee, or pop the question in bed, but he never did. Finally, just as she was ready to confront him about it or just do it herself, she woke up to find he'd left the box for her to find on his pillow. It was like the housekey all over again, because Bellamy has a problem with serious talks.

"I probably just would have asked him, instead," Clarke shrugs. "But, no, I don't _have_ to be married to him. I'd be fine just being with him."

Raven pokes her cheek. "But?"

" _But_ ," she grins up at the ceiling. "It'll be nice, being married to him. Just--" she rolls over to meet Raven's eye. "I know you don't believe in marriage, but I do. Bellamy does, too. More than me, I'm pretty sure, since he was such a nervous wreck about asking."

"I believe in marriage," Raven says with a frown. "I just don't think I'll ever do it."

"Why not?" Clarke pokes her in the leg with her foot. She's still wearing her boots, but she can't manage to get up the willpower to actually take them off. "Anyone would be lucky to be married to you."

Raven gives a half shrug, which obviously isn't good enough, so Clarke nearly shoves her off the bed. " _Jesus_ \--fine! I just, I don't know. I wouldn't be any good at it. I'm not _like_ you and Blake. I don't like flowers, or cuddling, or _Love Actually_ \--"

"You love _Love Actually_ ," Clarke accuses, and Raven rolls her eyes.

"Okay, one out of like, one million. The point still stands."

"Well, lucky for you, I know someone who prefers giving a dozen mold spores, rather than a dozen roses," Clarke hedges, waggling her brows towards Wells, asleep in the corner. Raven huffs a little, but she doesn't disagree.

"He's a _cuddler_ ," Raven argues.

"Who had his head in _your_ lap," Clarke points out smugly, and Raven rolls onto her stomach with a sigh.

"Shut up--don't you need beauty sleep or something? You're going to be the crankiest bride in the morning."

Clarke means to argue, but she's interrupted by a yawn, which sort of proves Raven's point. "We're talking about this later," she warns, closing her eyes so she doesn't have to see Raven's smug face.

She is not at all rested, or ready to wake, when Octavia hits her in the head with a pillow.

"It's the big day!" O calls, and Raven kicks her off the bed in protest. "You can't fight time, Reyes," she says from the floor. "We have a wedding to get to, come on!"

"You've missed your calling, Octavia," Clarke mumbles, voice muffled by the comforter. Her mouth tastes like _stale_ tequila, which is infinitely worse, and her hair is somehow both dry and greasy at the same time. She needs to shower, and get dressed, and put on her make up, and make it to the vineyard, all by eight-thirty. They'd considered getting married at a church or the beach or something, but it turns out weddings are a lot cheaper when you already own the venue. They're saving _so_ much money on champagne. "You should have been a drill sergeant."

Octavia's grin is feral, and Clarke finally heaves herself up. Wells is still asleep on the settee, which Raven is clearly not going to stand for, so she throws the fallen pillow at his face like a football. He groans a little, and falls onto the floor. Raven cackles.

Clarke does manage to shower and brush her teeth--at the same time, because she's efficient, and she uses the little gift basket of lotions and hair conditioner that the hotel sent up, so she smells like lavender--and her hair is half-up in curlers by the time Octavia bustles them all out the door.

"You can change in the car!" she barks, grabbing the shrink-wrapped gown on the way. "We're running late!"

"You are a menace," Raven bites out, looking frazzled in one of the hotel bathrobes, which she is apparently planning to steal. Wells is, of course, is looking pressed and completely ready. He's even color coordinated his pocket square, and despite only three and a half hours of sleep, he seems very excited.

Clarke does get changed in the backseat of the car, while Wells pointedly stares out the window and Octavia breaks half a dozen traffic laws, she's pretty sure. Raven grumbles the whole way, but looks perfect anyway by the time they pull up to the lot.

"Oh my god," Clarke breathes, and Octavia smirks a little smugly.

The boys were in charge of decorating for the big event, and Clarke was admittedly a little bit worried, but it's clear that she shouldn't have been. The trees lining the drive have been strung with tiny little lights, golden in the sunlight. There are flower petals leading a path through to the barn they've refurbished, to hold the ceremony, and they've put up awnings lined with grape vines, and they've put up little arrow signs made of the wood of scrapped barrels.

"I'm making Bellamy decorate the house," she decides, and O snorts, leading their way to the house, so they can finish getting ready.

"Fat chance--most of this was Wells and Miller, anyway. Bell just did the heavy lifting."

"How do you know?" Raven asks, suspicious, and Octavia rolls her eyes.

"Not _all_ of us weren't allowed to talk to our boyfriends last night," she smirks, and Clarke shoots her a halfhearted glare.

Abby is already inside, waiting with the curling irons lined up along the kitchen counter, with some of those magnifying mirrors the make up artists use at mall outlets.

"You look beautiful," she grins, pulling Clarke in for a hug. She's wearing some sort of pink suit-skirt combination that reminds Clarke of Easter. But she feels warm, and familiar, and Clarke breathes her in. It's been a while since she's seen her mom, and she's missed her.

Everything goes fine, of course. Clarke's mostly been too overwhelmed to worry, but there was still that underlying, little fear, that something would go wrong. Either her dress wouldn't fit or it would rip or something, or one of the wine barrels would crack and spill everywhere, or Bellamy would have a heart attack and die before they could even say their vows.

But instead, her mother and Octavia fuss over her hair, and Wells distributes the paper flowers--Raven _does_ have a metal one that she apparently made on the island and carried over, just in case--and Maya arrives with the cake right on time. The toppers are a pair of corkscrews, one with a bowtie and one with a veil, because they're cute but also practical. You can never have too many corkscrews.

Abby walks Clarke down the aisle, to _Silent Night_ , because it _is_ still Christmas Eve. And Bellamy's standing there at the altar, right where he said he would be, waiting.

"Get ready to cry," she whispers, taking his hand. He squeezes hers a little, grinning wider than she's ever seen. He'd been a little uncertain about a Christmas wedding at first, but she never was. Christmas is supposed to come with miracles, after all. And theirs will be the best one ever.

"Bring it," he says, and the priest clears his throat.

"Dearly beloved," he starts, but Clarke doesn't pay much attention. She's been ready for a while, now. She knows all the words.

 


End file.
